


Things That Some Would Rather Keep Secret.

by knifewingo



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pining, harrowed hunter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifewingo/pseuds/knifewingo
Summary: work in progress! can't decide if the tone is Too Much, though I'm not sure there's a way to write Simon without being obnoxiously extra.





	Things That Some Would Rather Keep Secret.

Hundreds had come and gone, and he had fallen in love with each of them in a second. His gentle heart had never been built for this; with every fading shadow another thread was pulled from him. He could close his eyes and hear the fibres of it tear as each lost soul turned their back on his warning. He had long forgotten how to help them, but had found watching them go hurt less than holding them, as they died. 

Not him. 

No, this Hunter's silence sang to him. 

Simon watched his huge shoulders heave as he settled onto the balcony. In the distance, where the harrowed howls were quieter. It was hard even for them, for the poor tortured souls bowed beneath the weight of their own blinded hubris, who only knew want and pain; it was hard for them not to find a moment of peace among the lumenwood. But the Hunter carried peace with him. Simon had seen it first in his eyes, his _own_ eyes, _still_ , that deep spark beneath their steel rims that said 'I am still human.' ‘I am still free'. 

It had snatched away his breath. His mind had scrambled for words like those same once-scholars pawed the grey earth for a secret unspoken. Simon had forgotten, what it felt like to be free. He had let himself forget. Somehow, somewhere, something bitter had rooted itself within him and now, the world tasted of rust. His heard had flickered between self pity and self loathing and in its indecision those gnarled roots had sapped away at him until he lost the notion he had any right to _be_ , at all. 

He had been Hunter and Hunted. But this new stranger, this shape that haunted his waking dreams, this old man with soft eyes and a softer smile, who had spared him no words; he wasn’t quite either. 

Simon approached him - _he_ never approached them, _never_ \- his life had become endless, aching waiting. Years had passed, perhaps, since he had last entered the Research Hall. Here, the very air bled. He could not bear it, the sour stench of rot. The Nightmare wasn’t shy of its share of odours but even before its soul had warped it, this place had reeked ugly of sickness. Somehow with his shrouded eyes on the Hunter’s back, on the chiselled hunk of stone he hauled with him - _he had known those words once too, the ancient tongue carved into it_ \- the boarded walls did not seem to weigh on him so heavy. He had done his part, to build the madness of this place. How he wished he hadn’t. 

He stopped as his bare toes broke the squared light, studied the Hunter’s stretched shadow. What would he say? Words he had spoken a thousand times seemed to have lost their meaning. Their sounds just, melted, in the pit of his skull. His throat seized - he touched his dry lips, as if he could sculpt them into life, combed slender fingers through his midnight beard. That had soothed him before, coarse hair between his fingertips. Now, he found himself imagining the Hunter’s hands instead. Through his beard, on his face, his hair, his throat, his lips… granite coarse but careful, heavy hands holding his own. His body like a rock, Simon had seen the blood-wild hordes break onhim like a crimson tide - yet those same stone hands had worked unsprung coldblood roots from the rancorous earth unbroken. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered, that even his fragile heart would be safe in those hands. 

He had not heard his voice, or felt his touch, but Simon knew; to see this Hunter swallowed in the Nightmare’s twisted jaw, would surely destroy him. 

**Author's Note:**

> work in progress! can't decide if the tone is Too Much, though I'm not sure there's a way to write Simon without being obnoxiously extra.


End file.
